perception
by esmeaplatt
Summary: Human lives can be traumatic, the emotional scars from one's past do not heal over and disappear with the help of venom as physical scars do.


**perception**

* * *

A misconception about vampiric beauty is that the vampires themselves are aware of it. Human lives can be traumatic, the emotional scars from one's past do not heal over and disappear with the help of venom as physical scars do.

Esme looked in the mirror day after day, finding relief at the sight of red fading from her irises. It was all she could focus on, really. She was told that her skin was now flawless, that her hair had more shine and volume than ever before. The scars left by the brutality of her first husband had been repaired by Carlisle's venom. The imperfections she'd carried around as a human seemed to have gone away, leaving her more or less perfect. Or so she'd been told.

Years and years of being spoken down to clung to her every glance in the mirror. She gazed at herself and heard her mother telling her to stand up straighter, to brush her messy hair. Her father's voice told her to change into a different dress because the one she was wearing now was too revealing or it was too childish- there was never a dress that he liked. The loudest voice of all was, of course, her first husband's. Sometimes she could even see him standing behind her, scrutinizing every little aspect of her appearance. He never liked the clothes he had picked out for her, never liked the way she styled her hair despite the fact that he was the one who told her how he liked it to look.

The attacks on her physical appearance had hurt her but the unkind words about every other part of her stung even more. Her mother had never liked her adventurous side, she'd never been lady-like enough for her. Her father criticized her emotions, found her tears or excitement to be childish or simply over the top. Charles despised everything about her she had learned immediately after saying "I do". He hated her intelligence, her sense of humor. He hated her and while she wished she could believe that it didn't matter, that a monster of a man's opinions did not mean she should feel badly about herself- she just couldn't for a long time.

For years she watched her reflection in the mirror with something close to disdain, spending far too long fixing her hair or her outfits to make sure they were just right. They never were but she couldn't spend eternity standing in front of the mirror. Years and years of Carlisle's compliments, of Edward's assurances that she looked lovely, that everyone thought so- they didn't help. Humans' stares meant nothing. In a way, she liked that. She found comfort in the fact that what people thought of her no longer tore her apart in the way it had as a human because she no longer believed them.

A part of her wished she could, wished she could believe her new husband's gentle words but she couldn't. He was an expert at fooling people, had been for centuries. And not that Carlisle would ever outwardly lie to her, she knew he'd fib for her happiness.

It was her own revelation that began to break apart her habit of self deprecation.

One day, she'd been folding clothes and tucking them neatly away in her drawers beside Carlisle's things. She had been humming, smiling at nothing when she caught sight of herself in the mirror in passing. She approached the glass with the basket of clothes under her arm and grass stains on her skirt.

She was struck by the realization that she was happy. So completely happy. She felt safe, she felt loved, felt as though she could be herself in every way imaginable in their little old house with her boys. She realized that it had been some time since she thought of Charles, even longer since she flinched at the sound of Edward slamming a door when he was upset or gasping if Carlisle touched her a certain way in bed.

Esme lifted a hand to touch her hair, tucking the strands that had fallen from her ponytail back behind her ear. Her finger traced the shell of her ear and down along her chin. She dropped her hand back down to the rim of the laundry basket and smiled at her reflection, laughing softly when she noticed the blue paint that clung to her right eyebrow.

She shook her head, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she turned and went about finishing the laundry.


End file.
